


'Cause All That You Are is All That I'll Ever Need

by friskynotebook



Series: Plausible Verse [4]
Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Harrison takes care of Carrie, Hurt/Comfort, anniversary fic, anniversary fluff, the gold band is here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friskynotebook/pseuds/friskynotebook
Summary: It's Harrison and Carrie's 40th anniversary, and things aren't exactly going to plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So. I was planning on doing a mini-writing spree inspired by Carrie Fisher’s The Princess Diarist (and I’ll still be writing all of them, don’t worry), but life got in the way, and it ended up taking me almost two months to write this.
> 
> I was actually planning on finishing this before Christmas, but with Carrie’s and Debbie’s deaths, my motivation just wasn’t there. But I’m not letting the plausible verse die, and don’t worry—Carrie and Debbie don’t die in this universe. They aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
> 
> The prompts for this fic were, “Happy 40th anniversary, sweetheart” and “He gives her the gold band with diamonds.”
> 
> It’s set in my plausible verse (duh), where Harrison and Carrie slowly fall in love after his divorce from Melissa. This takes place in May 2016, right after Carrie comes back from Cannes. There’s not much you need to know, but if it helps, they married in spring 2011 (exact date TBD). Also in this verse, the child Carrie miscarried in the 1980s was Harrison’s, and there is a passing mention of it in this fic.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from the Ed Sheeran song “Tenerife Sea,” off his album “x.” You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHTEGQbtP1I.
> 
> Special thanks to @hewouldve for her excellent beta skills and @thecarrisonfiles and @titasjournal for their support. Shoutout to the Slack fam for the general handholding.
> 
> This is RPF, and I don’t mean to offend anyone with this story.
> 
> Finally, I own nothing. Nothing. You don’t want to see what number shows up in my bank account. If anyone wants money from me, I’ll help you look for it because ya girl needs to buy groceries.
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show!

Harrison climbed up the stairs, carrying a tray of saltines, ginger ale, and ginger tea. He sighed as he reached the top step.  _ This is not how I thought we would spend our anniversary _ . 

He was exhausted, but whatever he felt was nothing compared to what his wife must be feeling—she’d been awake for half the night throwing up whatever was in her stomach and then some. Every hour like clockwork, Carrie would rush to the bathroom and violently cough into the cool porcelain toilet—even if nothing came out, she dry-heaved until her body simply exhausted itself.

And every time she had to go, Harrison (and Gary) would run right after her, kneeling down on the cold tiles beside her, holding back her hair, rubbing her back in soothing strokes. When she’d stop, he’d carry her to the sink, sit her on the counter, and press a cold cloth to her forehead while he brushed her teeth. Then he’d carry her back to bed and hold her, Gary pressed between them, as she fell into a fitful, moan-filled sleep until the whole cycle started again.

Now,  _ finally _ , she seemed to be on the mend. Earlier that morning, she’d thrown up for the last time—vile, bitter-tasting medicine—and quickly fell back asleep when he carried her back to their bed. She woke up a few hours later, woozy and lightheaded, and Harrison figured she was ready to try eating and drinking.

Harrison turned his body and gently nudged the door open, walking into their bedroom and placing the tray on Carrie’s nightstand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, kneeling down beside the bed. “You ready to eat something?”

She turned her bleary-eyed gaze towards him, smiling softly. “Okay,” she replied.

He helped her into a sitting position and placed the tray on her lap. Before he moved to his side of the bed, he kissed her forehead.  _ Her fever seems to be breaking _ .

Carrie nibbled on a cracker. “Thank you, baby,” she mumbled, absently petting Gary as he lay beside her.

“Of course, honey.” He crawled into the bed. “Have a little ginger ale,” he coaxed.

She finished her cracker and took a sip of ginger ale.

"How are you feeling?” he asked.

She swallowed. “A little better. Tired. My head hurts.”

He ran his hand along her thigh. “If you can keep the crackers down, I’ll get you some aspirin,” he promised.

She gave him a small smile and reached for another cracker. “Okay,” she agreed.

Harrison watched her as she ate, ready to help her to the bathroom if her stomach protested the crackers.

Carrie caught his glance. “I’m fine, sweetheart. My stomach’s settling,” she reassured him.

He blushed, turning his gaze away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it when you take care of me,” she confided, nibbling on the cracker.

“Good, because I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t let me look after you,” he replied, a wry grin crossing his face.

She returned his smile. “You’d probably go crazy,” she chuckled lightly, finishing the cracker and reaching for a third.

He pressed his lips to her temple, gently stroking her skin while she chewed on the cracker.

“I’m sorry about this,” she murmured, swallowing her food.

“Sorry about what?” he questioned.

“Being sick, ruining our anniversary.” Carrie took a sip of ginger ale, not looking at her husband.

Harrison brought a long finger to her chin and turned her head to face him. “Sweetheart, you’re not ruining anything.”

“Neither one of us has slept and you’re exhausting yourself looking after me,” she rambled, her eyes wide.

“Baby, I  _ like _ taking care of you,” he said softly, a small smile on his face. “If you weren’t sick, this would be the best anniversary we’ve ever had: me at your beck and call, you resting in bed all day.”

Her lips quirked upwards. “Still, I wish we could have done what we planned—walking around Larchmont Village and dinner at some hole in the wall Italian place . . .”

“We can do all that when you’re better,” he replied. “They’ll still be there when you don’t feel so awful.”

Carrie leaned forward and kissed his nose. “I love you.”

Harrison pressed his lips to her mouth. “I love you more,” he rumbled, pulling away. “I should get that aspirin for you.”

She squeezed his hand as he crawled out of bed. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiled, escaping to their bathroom. He went to the medicine cabinet and quickly located the right bottle, frowning when he heard rustling from their bedroom.

“Carrie, are you alright?” he asked, stepping back into the room to find his wife bending over her side of the bed.

She turned back around, hiding a box behind her back. “Yeah, I am, honey—just getting your present out.”

He crawled back into bed with the pills. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to do that today.”

Gary’s butt pressed against Harrison’s arm as he sniffed the box behind Carrie’s back. “I want to,” she insisted. “Let’s salvage the day somehow.”

“But I won’t have anything to give you when we do celebrate,” he returned.

“Then buy me something else,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

He grinned, kissing her forehead. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

She smirked, pulling Gary away from the box and settling him in her lap. “Nope.”

Harrison snorted. “If you insist.” He went to his underwear drawer and pulled out a small box, hiding it in his pajama bottoms pocket.

“Open mine first!” she insisted as he crawled back into bed.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Hand it over, Fisher,” he rumbled.

Carrie gave him a long, slim jewelry box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

He untied the ribbon and gasped as he lifted the lid. Two sterling silver dog tags caught the light, showing off the engraved messages. The first tag had “Carrie & Harrison 1976” written in cursive writing, but it was the second tag that brought tears to his eyes. He ran a long finger over the engraving—the first initials of their children in the order they were born, with “unborn child” written below.

“Carrie,” he choked out, his eyes shining brightly. “Carrie.”

“You like them?” she asked softly.

He shifted himself to face her, then carefully pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t love them more if I tried.”

She smiled against his mouth. “I wasn’t sure what you’d think about the . . . kids one.”

His lips brushed her temple. “It’s perfect,” he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’ll have them with me, always.”

Carrie pulled back, gingerly wiping his cheeks. “Good,” she breathed, unable to say more.

“Thank you so much,” he sniffled.

She moved forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat. “My turn?”

Harrison moved back to his side of the bed and slipped on the dog tags, taking a moment to run his thumb over the engravings. He reached into his pocket, pulling the box out and handing it to her.

Carrie sat up and grinned, practically bouncing in the bed as she opened the box. Gary climbed closer to her, sniffing what she had in her hand.

“Harrison,” she breathed. Inside the box was a rose gold band with diamonds encrusted in the Greek key design. She ran her finger lightly over the design, almost as if she was afraid to damage it. “Honey, this is gorgeous.”

“Take it out,” he encouraged, stroking her thigh.

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow, removing the ring from the box. Inspecting it in the light, she saw the engraving, her breath catching in her throat.

“What does it say?” he rumbled, nervous for her reaction.

“Carrison,” she choked, tears springing to her eyes. “You engraved it with Carrison.”

“It’s the right one, right?” he asked. “I wrote it down when you showed me the final draft of your book, but I wasn’t sure—”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, repeating his words from earlier. “I’ll wear it every day.”

“You don’t have to . . .”

“I  _ want  _ to,” she insisted, placing it on her right hand ring finger.

He cupped her cheek and kissed her again. “I love you so much.”

“I’ll always love you more,” she teased, smiling. “And I’m always right.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, you are.”

She pulled them both back against the bed, pushing aside the boxes as they rested in each other’s arms, her head against his chest. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” he rumbled as Gary flopped on his legs.

“Not just for the ring,” Carrie clarified. “For the past forty years.”

He squirmed a little. “I’m sure they weren’t all that great for you. I could have treated you better.”

“Stop that,” she gently insisted. “You always did the best you could—and you never intentionally hurt me or anyone else.”

Harrison knew they’d been over this countless times before, but it weighed on him with their anniversary. “I wish you never had to hurt at all.”

“Shut up,” she growled playfully. “I don’t regret any of it. I wouldn’t trade these forty years for the world.”

He smiled softly, reassured for the time being.

“Well,” she hedged, “if you  _ really _ want to make things up to me . . .”

Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“We could watch some of the  _ Real Housewives _ ,” she grinned.

He chuckled and reached for the remote. “Sure, sweetheart.”

She turned on the TV. “Smart man.”

He snorted. “If Mama’s not happy, nobody’s happy.”


End file.
